


All That We See or Seem

by FlibbertiGiblet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, But not really cause it's Narnia, Gen, Narnia AU, The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe, kind of, to be specific
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlibbertiGiblet/pseuds/FlibbertiGiblet
Summary: “I came through the wardrobe, of course. But I’m from London, in England, though my siblings and I are staying with the Professor somewhere in the country.”“War Drobe. Lun Dun,” repeated Gendry thoughtfully. “Ink Land. I’m sorry, m’lady, I was never very good at geography. Is that somewhere in the Westerlands?”Arya laughed. “You are a very unusual creature, Mr. Gendry, even for a faun. I don’t believe I understand half of what you’re saying.”“’Tis my opinion of you as well, Arya.”





	1. In Which Arya Discovers Something Peculiar

**Author's Note:**

> Set in World War II-era England, the ~~Pevensie~~ Stark kids are sent away from London to keep them safe from the air-raids. In this AU, their mother Catelyn stays behind with Rickon, who’s deemed too young to be separated from her. Poor Ned can’t catch a break even in fanfic, I'm afraid; as far as the family knows, he’s been missing for months and is presumed to have fallen in battle.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, I changed their ages a bit just ‘cause I can. So Robb is about 14, Sansa 12, Arya 10, and Bran 9.
> 
> Title is from Edgar Allan Poe's "A Dream Within a Dream".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This wardrobe is simply enormous,_ she thought with glee. _They’ll never find me in here._

There was no denying it. They were bored.

For all that it was mid-summer, they hadn’t had a day of good weather since arriving at Professor Aemon’s country manor a week ago. The incessant downpour had kept the children from exploring the grounds surrounding the house. As massive as the house itself was – it had taken Arya and Bran a good ten minutes to get from one wing to another, they’d counted – and as many books and board games as the good Professor had provided for them – simply put, they longed for some activity.

After the novelty of exploring the house had worn off, the four of them had stayed cooped up in what had been designated as their playroom, a large, pleasant enough space, to be sure, but one that currently felt to Arya like a prison.

“Oh, this is _impossibly_ tiresome.” Arya flung down the cards she had been idly shuffling for the past ten minutes and looked around the room in a huff. "We _must_ find something to do or I shall go mad."

On the rug next to her, Bran lay gloomily on his back, his legs propped up against the wall as he tossed a ball from one hand to the other. Sansa was humming under her breath as she sewed by the windowsill, occasionally glancing up at the dismal weather outside. Robb was sitting on the sofa with a book, but they could hear his fingers tapping restlessly against its pages.

“I agree with Arya,” he said at last, and threw his book on the seat next to him.

“Shall we play a game then?” asked Sansa, and they all acquiesced and set aside their toys. “How about –“

Arya hurriedly interrupted. “Not Lords and Ladies _again,_ Sansa?”

Her sister looked only mildly insulted. “Very well, we can play something else. Bran, any suggestions?”

He shrugged. “Hide-and-go-seek, I suppose.”

They drew straws to determine who would be the seeker, and Robb groaned when the task fell to him.

“Alright then, you lot. I’ll give you five, no - _ten_ minutes to find a place to hide and then I’m coming for you!” He made a big show of covering his eyes and counting out loud.

Sansa winked at Arya and ran off towards the stairs, giggling. Bran made a cheeky face at her and dashed off in the opposite direction, leaving Arya to figure out an alternative route.

Bran had always been the best among them at hide-and-seek, but Arya had explored the house right by his side only days ago and she felt certain she knew which nooks and crannies would appeal to him. _I would not be surprised if he climbed to the rooftops themselves, the clambering little sneak,_ she thought with a sniff.

Arya was determined this time to find the best hiding spot in this draughty old house. She could hear doors slamming shut somewhere in the corridor behind her, but she made her way to a room she’d discovered in the east wing, quite empty except for a large, mirrored wardrobe, half-covered with a sheet.

She lifted the sheet slightly to feel for the door handle and let out a huge sneeze as she loosed some stray motes of dust into the air. Freezing completely as she listened for her brother’s footsteps, she let out her breath only when it became clear she had not been heard. Smirking, she pulled open the door and ducked inside, leaving a small crack to allow for some light and air to filter into the stuffiness of the space. Her nose itched from the prevalent smell of mothballs, but she pinched it shut with her fingers until the tickle subsided. Only then did she look around her, but there was nothing more interesting than a few old coats. Sighing, she reached her hands out to feel for the back of the wardrobe, intending to sit against it while she waited to be found, or until the all-clear, whichever came first. She took another step further in – then another – always keeping her hands outstretched. But no matter how she waved her hands blindly in front of her, she could not feel the wooden backboard she was expecting.

 _This wardrobe is simply enormous,_ she thought with glee. _They’ll never find me in here._

She pushed her way deeper in, past the scratchy wools and musty furs of the coats hanging therein, until she felt an entirely new texture altogether – something that felt very like the branches of the Christmas trees her father would bring home every year. Ignoring the sharp pang of grief that memory brought her, she closed her fingers around the prickly needles of – yes, they were clearly from a pine tree, but what on earth was a pine tree doing inside a wardrobe?

It was then that she noticed that her very surroundings had completely changed, for was this darkness surrounding her not from the velvety black of a starless night rather than the dim gloom of a poorly-lit wardrobe? Instead of feeling the hard, smooth wood of furniture beneath her feet, was not the cold, powdery crunching below the same snow that was now falling gently on her hair?

Eyes wide, Arya realized that she was standing in the middle of a small clearing in some unknown forest…somehow somewhere deep inside the wardrobe of the spare room.

She shook her head to clear it, but the hallucination, or the _dream_ – for surely, that’s what this was? – persisted. A sudden glimmer of excitement seized her and she took an eager step forward, before hesitating. Glancing back into the wardrobe she could still see half-hidden behind the tree-trunks, she felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of Robb and Sansa and Bran waiting back there for her…

…but then she spotted a strange light bobbing amidst the trees some ways ahead, and just like that, she made up her mind.

She grabbed a random coat hanging from the row behind her and ran towards the light.


	2. In Which Arya Meets a Faun. Well. A Half-Faun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I came through the wardrobe, of course. But I’m from London, in England, though my siblings and I are staying with the Professor somewhere in the country.”
> 
> “War Drobe. Lun Dun,” repeated Gendry thoughtfully. “Ink Land. I’m sorry, m’lady, I was never very good at geography. Is that somewhere in the Westerlands?”
> 
> Arya laughed. “You are a very unusual creature, Mr. Gendry, even for a faun. I don’t believe I understand half of what you’re saying.”
> 
> “’Tis my opinion of you as well, Arya.”

Like a moth to a flame – if moths were akin to slightly grubby little girls in borrowed fur coats - Arya raced through the forest after the flickering light that had attracted her notice. It turned out to be no more than the cheerful yet ordinary glow of a lantern, for she saw it now in the hand of…

Arya came to a stumbling stop and gaped at the person in front of her (if indeed he could be called a person, for she had never before seen such a creature in her life).

From the waist upward, he was like a man, or rather, a boy, perhaps close to her brother Robb’s age. He was taller than Robb, though, with a shock of black hair that fell over his eyes, and – were those _horns_ sticking out on either side of his forehead? Her eyes ran down the strangeness of his figure in rapt attention, for he was broad chested and strong of arm – if the heavy-looking stack of wood he carried was any indication – yet he wore no clothes save a blue woolen muffler wound around his neck. His legs, though long and muscular, were shaped like a goat’s and covered with the same dark hair as on his head. Instead of feet, he had hooves, and as she stared at them in curiosity, one leg pawed the ground almost nervously.

Her eyes met his at last; he had been gazing at her with equal fascination, it seemed.

Arya blinked. “Who are you, then?” she demanded.

His brow quirked at her tone. “I am Gendry, at your service.” He made a small bow. “A good evening to you, m’lady,” he said, rather pointedly.

She could almost hear her sister’s gentle admonition in her head. _Young ladies must always be polite, Arya._ She flushed, feeling vaguely annoyed.

“I’m no lady. I’m Arya Stark. Good evening to you too,” she added as an afterthought.

His laugh was low and rumbling, an amiable sound. “Pleased to meet you, Arya Stark.” Gendry paused and seemed to be considering his next words carefully. “Am I right in thinking that despite the shaggy old pelt you are covered in, you are what they call a lady? That is to say…a girl?” he quickly amended at her expression.

“What a stupid question,” exclaimed Arya, although she was not really offended. “Of course I’m a girl. I know I’m not as pretty as Sansa, but I am a girl nevertheless.”

“I do not know this Sansa,” said Gendry, “nor how pretty or unpretty she may be, but you must forgive my ignorance, m’lady. You see…we have not seen one of your kind here in a very long time.”

“What do you mean? A girl?”

“Well…a human girl.”

“And what are you, then, that a human girl would be such a strange thing?” she huffed, for he was making little sense. 

“Why, I’m a faun, of course.”

“You don’t look much like a stag.”

Again, that laugh. “Ah. No, not the deer kind of fawn. As you can see, I’m of the two-legged variety.” 

“Indeed,” she muttered, and tried to recall what she knew about such woodland creatures.

_(When she and her siblings were younger, they’d had a nanny called Old Nan – a funny coincidence of a name, all things considering – who’d tell them endless stories of magic and monsters and of clever princesses and brave knights. Arya remembered more from the tales of the adventurers than she did of the magical beings, but…)_

“You’re rather big for a faun, aren’t you?” she said, crossing her arms. 

“No, you are correct; I am only half a faun, after all. My father, well.” He shrugged, not elaborating further. “I am a blacksmith as well as a faun. My smithy is a short walk through yonder trees. I was out chopping wood for the forge when I ran into you, Arya Stark.”

“Just Arya,” she told him.

"And you? How came you here to the Kingswood?"

She looked around now, puzzled. “Is that where we are? The Kingswood? I did not know.”

“Then how did you get here, Just Arya, if you know not where you are?”

She punched him in the arm in exasperation, and he stumbled back a step, smiling.

“I came through the wardrobe, of course. But I’m from London, in England, though my siblings and I are staying with the Professor somewhere in the country.”

“War Drobe. Lun Dun,” repeated Gendry thoughtfully. “Ink Land. I’m sorry, m’lady, I was never very good at geography. Is that somewhere in the Westerlands?”

Arya laughed. “You are a very unusual creature, Mr. Gendry, even for a faun. I don’t believe I understand half of what you’re saying.”

“’Tis my opinion of you as well, Arya.”

“You said you had not seen a girl here in a long time. But where exactly is ‘here’?”

“An odd question,” said the Faun. “This is the land of Westeros, where we are now; rather near King’s Landing, I should think, though Westeros stretches from the Wall in the North to Dorne in the South.” He peered down at her, noting the frown on her face. “You are not familiar with Westeros?”

Arya’s face turned slightly pink, for she did not like to show her ignorance. “No,” she admitted finally, “I am not, for I didn't listen much when they taught us geography in school either. But surely it must be somewhere far away from England, for it is summer there, and yet it snows here.”

Gendry’s deep blue eyes darkened for a moment, but he shook his head and offered her a smile. “Yes, it is winter here in Westeros, and it has been for ever so long, it seems. ‘Winter is coming’, the elders liked to say when I was a young faun, and come it did, though no one knew that it would last as long as it has…” His voice trailed off, and Arya thought he looked rather melancholy.

“See, I'm not afraid of the cold. My people are from Yorkshire. The North. Our North,” she clarified, at Gendry’s confused look. Still, she could not quite hide her shivering as a chilly gust of wind picked up around them. 

Gendry raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Afraid or not, we shall both catch our deaths of cold if we stand out here for much longer. Would you like to come by my smithy for some refreshments, maybe warm yourself by my fire? You can tell me all about Lun Dun and Ink Land, for I have never been too far away from King’s Landing, and am very interested to hear about your adventures.” Shifting the weight of the firewood carefully to the same arm that held the lantern, he held out his other hand for her to take.

Arya looked at it somewhat doubtfully, then back up to his face. He waggled his ears at her, and she giggled despite herself. “Well, I haven’t really had any adventures yet,” she confided, tucking her hand in his as they began to make their way through the trees. “But I am certain that will not always be the case.” 

The falling snow obscured their footsteps behind them, and soon it was as if no one had been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the fawn/faun reference, sorry/not sorry!

**Author's Note:**

> It was sometimes difficult finding the appropriate tone to use in this AU. I wanted to stay true to C.S. Lewis’ style – it's a children’s book published in 1950, after all – but I wanted the characters to remain recognizable to ASOIAF readers, without delving too much into the darkness of GRRM’s material. I hope I struck a reasonable balance between the two.
> 
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated cause this I'm not even kidding, this is the first fic I've written in _years_ for any fandom and I am nervous as hell about it.


End file.
